


The Beautiful Lie

by NotOneLine



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Emotional Hurt, F/M, POV Lucifer, Post-Episode S04E03 Oh Ye of Little Faith Father, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotOneLine/pseuds/NotOneLine
Summary: Lucifer Morningstar was angry. No, not just angry, he was furious. He was every single bloody dictionary definition of enraged that had ever been, or would ever come to be.What’s worse, he couldn’t even punish the person responsible. Couldn’t direct his ire, his wrath, to the one person worthy of it.The person who had betrayed him.His Detective.





	The Beautiful Lie

Lucifer Morningstar was angry. No, not just angry, he was _furious._ He was every single bloody dictionary definition of enraged that had ever been, or would ever come to be.

What's worse, he couldn't even punish the person responsible. Couldn't direct his ire, his _wrath_ , to the one person worthy of it.

The person who had betrayed him.

His Detective.

…

She had tried to send him back to Hell. It was a statement of fact that his heart refused to hear, insisting that it wasn't possible, despite what he now knew. There was no conceivable way she would do that to him. Not after years of listening to him talk about the horrors he'd encountered there, how much he _hated_ that place, how glad he was to be free of it. Not now that she knew it all to be true.

He rebelled with every fibre of his being against the notion until the very moment the confession left her lips.

Even then, he was incredulous. It didn't make sense. She was supposed to know him. She was supposed to be the one to accept him, finally, for all that he was. Maybe not straight away, maybe not for years even, but this? To not only run away from him, but to come back, to lie to him, to attack him in this way?

_Why?_

It was a question to which he wasn't sure he would ever fully understand the answer.

She hadn't been the first human to discover his identity over the centuries. It wasn't as if he'd ever tried to hide it. Most were driven to insanity, or religious devoutness, which was a special kind of insanity all of its own, as far as he was concerned. The church knew of him, of course. He'd once delighted in visiting the Vatican, in informing some of these noble men of exactly what awaited them down below.

And then there was Linda. Somebody who claimed they wanted to know him, who demanded that he reveal himself. He'd been hopeful, then. He'd also been a fool. Of course her reaction was just like that of everybody else. He was a monster, he was divinity, he was something the human mind simply wasn't built for.

But Chloe… she was a miracle. She wasn't any ordinary human. And that had given him false hope all over again. He wasn't the Devil, not to her, that was what she'd told him. Over and over, he'd tried to convey to her the darker side of himself, but she had only ever seen the light. And for a moment, he believed her when she said she knew who he really was. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, this time it would be different, with her.

It was all a lie. A lie he had told himself.

She hadn't forgiven him for his mistakes, for his flaws. She'd cursed him instead.

Did she know what was in that vial? He must have asked himself that question a dozen times already. Did she ask? Did she even _care?_ He didn't want to think about the answer. She'd been in Europe for a month. 31 days, a mere speck in his long life. That was all it had taken for her to turn against him. Oh, he could imagine the things they had whispered in her ears, those pillars of righteousness shrouded in robes that hid their lies.

How they must have rejoiced to have found her. The only human in all of existence that could hurt him. Anger rose, sharp and biting, at the thought that they dare _use_ her like that. But then it died as quickly as it came, smothered back into the embers that were turning his heart to ash. Because she'd allowed herself to be used, hadn't she? They had offered, and she had accepted with open arms.

She wanted to be free of the Devil, and freedom they had granted her.

For a moment she'd helped with their plan. For a _moment_ , she said. It wasn't a moment. It was all those weeks in Rome. It was a 12 hour flight back home. It was working cases, it was a date, it was holding his hand at a piano. It was telling him everything he wanted to hear, while all the time carrying around the key to his undoing.

Because she was terrified. Terrified of the person who had never harmed her, or those she loved. He had protected her with everything he had, even his own life. He was her partner, her friend. He tried to be all those things to her and more. But it wasn't enough. One glimpse of the other side of him and all of that was forgotten.

She claimed she remembered, now that she was back. And not for the first time that day, he didn't believe her. The lie was there when she looked at him, or rather, when she didn't look. It was in her voice, in her tears, in the way her body trembled. In how adamant she was that he could change. Change from the person he was, from the person he'd been almost the entire time she'd known him. The person she'd been so convinced was a good man, until she found out that everything he'd ever told her was true.

And suddenly, that person was no longer good, no longer a man even.

Evil.

The _embodiment_ of evil. That's what she had decided he was. That's what she believed.

She was scared of him now.

And it hurt. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt. The pain of being cast out, the agony of being abandoned by his family, the torment of falling, the flesh ripped from his bones as his wings set aflame. None of it compared to her rejection. The one human he had trusted implicitly. The human he had allowed closer to him than any other, despite knowing the future that lay ahead for them. The only human he had ever allowed himself to lo—

No. He couldn't think about that. That was over now. The only thing left to decide was what to do next, now the life he knew was gone. Should he leave? Hell wasn't an option. He'd already been tried to force to go there against his will; he certainly wasn't going to go there bloody voluntarily. Los Angeles had become his home. Whether it would still be home without her here, he didn't know.

The one thing he did know was that he would forgive her, in time. It was in his nature. For someone who had spent the majority of their life with the sole purpose of punishing those who deserved it, he found it almost impossible to hold a grudge with those around him. The latter being the key; absenteeism, in his case, did not make the heart grow fonder. It was one of the many reasons his hatred for his Father, and at one time, his Mother, had burned within him for so long.

The question was, did he _want_ to forgive her? Was it worth the risk, just to be close to her again? To be reminded of what she'd done, day in, day out, but be unable to stay away regardless? As things stood, he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her again. Not knowing what he did now. Knowing that she didn't accept him. That she might _never_ accept him.

With a heavy heart, he dialled the precinct, a number he had come to know by heart. It was late; the lieutenant had already left for the day. In one way, having to leave a message made it easier; there was no requirement for him to give a reason as to why he was resigning. He had neither the energy nor the inclination to put a spin on the events of the evening, and he was glad to have avoided it. Even now, he was still protecting her.

When it was done, he looked toward the amber liquid that lined his wall and longed for oblivion. How much would it take, he wondered, to help him forget? To no longer see the sheer terror in the blue of her eyes, to not feel the ghost of her kiss upon his lips? If he pushed hard enough, tried hard enough, would the memory of her abandon his dreams?

Could it ease the piercing ache within his chest, that worsened with every breath of her perfume that still lingered in the air?

There was only one way to find out.

…

Lucifer Morningstar was devastated. No, not just devastated, he _grieved_. He was every single dictionary definition of the word despair that had ever been, or would ever come to be.

And he couldn't ask anyone for help. Couldn't bring himself to trust again, not after the one person he had thought worthy of that trust had betrayed him. The one person who could make him whole again, but never would.

Because she wasn't his Detective.

Not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little exploration of what might have been running through Lucifer's mind immediately following the penthouse scene in S04E03. At some point in the future I plan on doing a far more in depth look at Chloe's POV... but for now, all I have to offer is angst of the Devil variety I'm afraid.
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NotOneLineFF) and [Tumblr](https://notonelineff.tumblr.com/) for sneak peeks and Lucifer chat.


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